


Three Makes Good Company

by vienn_peridot



Series: Eta Carinae 230 [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Humor, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Rossum's Trinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparkeater+Quantum Engines=Electrical issues.</p><p>Electrical issues create heating problems, which provide a good excuse for Rodimus to get the two stubborn glitches that are his 2IC and 3IC in the same place long enough for their Cohort Bonds to strengthen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Makes Good Company

They were having problems with the heating systems.

Apparently there was something about combining a Sparkeater (and half of Rodimus’ arms) with the engine blocks that created a few odd shorts in the Lost Light’s systems.  Heating was down throughout most of the ship, making the interior distinctly cold.

It didn’t bother Ultra Magnus much and it _definitely_ didn’t bother Minimus Ambus at all, not that anyone knew about his frame hidden safely inside the armour. Certain frametypes were definitely suffering more than others, so it didn’t surprise Magnus at all when a certain flame-coloured speedster shuffled into his office wrapped in several thermal blankets.

“Captain?”

“Hey Magnus, do you mind if I do my paperwork in here with you?” Rodimus asked with a hint of uncertainty lurking under his usual casual charm.

Magnus raised an optical ridge, letting his EM Field convey his scepticism.

“What? I _do_ my paperwork! Just… not, you know, all the time.” The Captain blustered, fidgeting with the edge of his thermal blanket cocoon.

If he was the smiling type, Ultra Magnus would have _definitely_ smirked at that outrageous claim. Instead he settled for projecting more disbelief at the speedster and delivering a mild criticism that could almost – _almost_ \- be a joke if you looked at it sideways and squinted. “By that you mean you let it pile up until it threatens to physically crush you and then pull a several-day marathon in order to complete it all with… somewhat inconsistent results.” It was more charitable than what Magnus actually wanted to say, but to his own surprise he found that honestly wanted the speedster’s company.

Their cohort bonds were still solidifying and spending time near each other would be good for both of them. It wasn’t lost on Magnus that if their cohort bonds had been more firmly established _before_ embarking then he would have been able to get a better idea of what Rodimus was up to during the Sparkeater incident. If so he might have been able to keep Rodimus from putting both himself and that little orange mech –Ring? Lung?- in needless danger.

“So if I’m here you can supervise me and make sure I take breaks which will improve the overall quality of my work, right?” Rodimus said, inviting himself in since Magnus hadn’t indicated that he was averse to the idea. “Besides, I don’t have that much to do this time.”

Moving quickly despite his bulky coverings, Rodimus came around the side of Magnus’ desk and plopped himself down on the floor, using Ultra Magnus’ lower leg as a backrest. Ultra Magnus froze in confusion. He’d been expecting Rodimus to bring over one of the chairs and take over part of his desk; not engage in this, this abnormality.

“There. You keep my back warm and I’ll keep your leg warm, ok?” Rodimus’ arm appeared from within his cocoon, placing a small stack of datapads on the floor beside him.

Magnus noted distantly that Rodimus had set his datapads down so the long edges of were perfectly parallel to the long side of his desk and the closest wall of his office.

_Did he do that on purpose?_

“You comfy up there?” Rodimus asked, peering up from under the cowl-like folds of thermal fabric covering his helm.

Magnus gave the question due consideration. While this was extremely odd, he had to admit that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Rodimus was indeed warming the leg he was leaning against and the close proximity of a Cohort EMF was settling the odd, displaced feeling that had been causing some discomfort in Minimus Ambus’ Spark, hidden away beneath layers of concealing armour.

“Yes, I am comfortable.”

Rodimus flashed him a grin before picking up one of his datapads with a muffled sigh and beginning to work.

 

## ~V~V~V~V~V~

 

Sometime later a polite tap at the door interrupted Ultra Magnus in his proof-reading.

He had already finished his own work and now he was passing time by going over Rodimus’ reports before they were logged into the Lost Light’s computer system. It would save plenty of processor aches in future if Magnus sorted out the Captain’s less-than-orthodox grammar and punctuation now.

Unexpectedly glad of the interruption, Magnus gave permission for entry and set his current datapad down. His office door opened just enough to admit Drift’s helm, shadowed by a finial-enhanced hood.

“Magnus, do you know where Rodimus is?” The Ex-Decepticon asked politely, blue optics watching him warily from beneath the folds of thermal blanket draped over his helm.

Despite the fact that Ultra Magnus and Drift were command staff and therefore part of Rodimus’ Core Cohort by default, their own relationship was still extremely uncertain. Magnus wasn’t willing or able to put Drift’s Decepticon past aside and Drift was still trying to prove to himself and everyone around him that what he had been didn’t define him.

So far they were managing by being unswervingly polite to each other when forced to interact and spending as little time around each other as possible, which didn’t help the fragile secondary Cohort bonds trying to form between them.

Before Magnus could say anything, Rodimus lazily waved an arm over the edge of the desk.

“Down here, Drift. What’s up?”

“I’ve got those additives Ratchet wants you to take.” Drift explained, holding the sealed flask out in front of his frame like some kind of shield between Ultra Magnus and himself as he edged into the room. “He asked me to give it to you, since you avoid Medbay unless you’re falling apart and he’s too busy to go hunting you down himself.”

Half-way across Magnus’ office something seemed to occur to Drift and he stopped dead in his tracks, looking warily at the place where Rodimus’ arm had appeared over the desk. The ex-Decepticon wasn’t quite as tightly-wrapped as Rodimus was, his thermal blankets trailing messily on the floor behind him. Magnus could see white and red plating clamped tightly to conserve heat and his fingers itched with the need to fix Drift’s inefficiently-draped coverings.

“Wait, do I want to know what you’re doing down there, Roddy?” Drift sounded suspicious, “I _know_ Magnus is respectable, but you…”

The Third in Command let his sentence trail off, leaving unsaid any number of observations about Rodimus’ character. Ultra Magnus had a feeling that he’d actually agree with some of them; a realisation that quite surprised him.

“I’m doing _paperwork_ , you aft.” Rodimus said, throwing one of his datapads at Drift. The white speedster caught it easily. “My office is freezing and Magnus makes a nice warm backrest. Plus he can get the datapads as soon as I’m done with them. Now give me the medicine and take your filthy mind elsewhere.”

Grinning, Drift did as he was told. He approached with more confidence, rounding the desk to discover the improbable sight of Rodimus snugly cocooned in thermal tarps, leaning at ease against one of Ultra Magnus’ lower legs. There were two perfectly aligned stacks of datapads beside him and none in his hands as he’d thrown the one he was working on at Drift. The expression on Drift’s faceplates was worthy of an image capture, so Magnus took one.

“Here you go, Captain Cranky Pants.” Drift said, handing pad and beaker to Rodimus.

“Thanks, I think.” Rodimus made a face at the beaker before chugging it down. “Ugh, yeah, I take it back.”

Drift was too busy shaking his helm at Rodimus to notice Magnus reaching over, but he _definitely_ noticed when the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord started straightening the blankets covering his frame, arranging the folds and tucking the ends under so Drift was firmly and efficiently wrapped but still able to move freely.

Caught completely off-guard, Drift could only stare while Magnus worked, cycling his optics repeatedly and projecting extreme confusion.

“Your coverings were not arranged in the optimal manner for heat preservation.” Magnus explained, removing his hands from Drift’s person and inspecting his work with an air of satisfaction. “I remedied the situation for you.”

“Um, cool.” Drift obviously had no idea what to say. “Thank you, Ultra Magnus.”

“He’s got another leg too, if you don’t have to be anywhere else in a hurry.” Rodimus all but pounced on the opportunity to consolidate the improvement in Cohort relations. “If you wanna hang out for a bit you could meditate or something and keep it warm for him.”

Drift wavered, caught between what he obviously wanted to do and what he thought was allowed.

“I have no objections, so long as you keep the chanting to a minimum.” Ultra Magnus deadpanned, extending his Field politely before turning his attention back to the datapad and pretending to have no further stake in the situation.

In reality only half of his attention was on the datapad; the rest was tracking the EM Fields of what was to be his Cohort on this ship and monitoring the steady reduction of discomfort in his Spark the longer all three of them remained in range.

“Right. No chanting. Got it.” Drift said, “It’s mainly to keep Whirl away, anyway.”

Rodimus snorted and made a note on his datapad. “Whirl Repellent. I should get you to bottle that.”

Drift shuffled past Rodimus and the seated Ultra Magnus to lower himself smoothly to the floor, back pressed gently against Magnus’s leg.

By the time the warmth from Magnus’ larger frame had crept its way through Drift’s systems the swordsmech was asleep, Field blending easily with those of the other two mechs. It took Magnus a little longer to realise that Rodimus had also fallen into recharge, since he’d finished his stack of datapads and simply not bothered to move. Deciding to enjoy the peace and quiet, Ultra Magnus stayed awake, quietly soaking in the feeling of contentment that came from being with these two mecha who comprised the Core of his new Cohort. Eventually he found his own frame trying to shut down into recharge and pulled himself back to full awareness.

Attempts to get the speedsters to return to their separate quarters to recharge were futile; apparently Rodimus got clingy when he was sleepy and Drift seemed to alternate between stubborn immobility and physical violence if someone disturbed his recharge. It was easy to avoid or simply ignore Drift’s half-aware slaps and redirect Rodimus’ attempts to snuggle, using one speedster to restrain the other while Magnus manoeuvred them through the corridors.

Somehow they made it to the Captain’s quarters without encountering any of the crew or losing an optic to a combination of Drift’s finials and the swordsmechs’ occasional flailing. Magnus’ plan to leave both speedsters on the Captain’s berth was thwarted by Drift choosing that precise moment to unexpectedly switch from fighting to clinging; grabbing one of the Magnus armour’s smokestacks in a painfully tight grip and refusing to let go. Rodimus’ optics flickered online and Ultra Magnus felt a brief flare of hope as the Captain took in the situation.

“May as well stay?” Rodimus reset his vocaliser hurriedly, probably feeling the brief flash of horror in his 2IC’s Field. “I mean, it’ll be warmer for all three of us and it’s only heating the one room, too. More efficient use of fuel.”

He left unsaid the fact that this would be one of the easiest ways to strengthen the Cohort bonds between them. That theirs was an intensely social species whose members _needed_ these bonds to function efficiently.

Ultra Magnus thought about it, contemplating the strength of Drift’s unrelenting grip on his smokestack.

When Magnus finally nodded a bright smile spread across Rodimus’ faceplates and the Captain quietly helped shuffle everyone around so that Ultra Magnus was on his back in the centre of the berth, a bundle of blanket-wrapped speedster pressed against each side. Something deep in the primeval part of Minimus’ coding purred happily as he shut down for recharge, surrounded by the warm frames and Fields of what would become his Cohort.

_Odd. Why didn’t I notice how cold it was before?_

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in February. It's taken 10 months to find a decent-ish title *facepalm*


End file.
